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squall
as the door clicked shutmy headlamp broadcast a stark beamslicing a path through the winter dark as I took my first stepsmy watch reached skyward for a signaltracking my pace across the icy walks as I started to runmy face caught the sudden rush of windsensing the winter air stirring ahead in the park as
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boundary
I am not a poet, but a friend has inspired me to read more of it and think more critically about its place in the constellation of my creative pursuits. Occasionally, I’d like to post a poem here when inspiration strikes. boundarydemarcated by strict panels of hewn lumberset against remnant forest clinging to a river

